


Government Dog

by latenightiridescence



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, No Angst, shockingly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5659633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/latenightiridescence/pseuds/latenightiridescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Portgas D. Ace, reluctant Level Six guard. Marco the Phoenix, reluctant Level Six prisoner. Putting them together is the most monumental screw up in Impel Down history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Government Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Re-post from FF.Net in defiance of it being ripped off. Jesus.

Level Six is loud. Probably the loudest of all the floors in Impel Down, and while Ace doesn’t find this particularly upsetting, the noise makes it impossible to hold a conversation. Especially when the person you’re trying to converse with is part of the cacophony, swearing and spitting threats and insults, sometimes reaching through the bars in an attempt to throttle you.

But they’re pirates, and the small - read: quite large - part of Ace’s heart that hasn’t given up on his dream of being free on the seas yearns for the stories the prisoners could tell. He wants to hear them all.

Ace wears the uniform identifying him as an esteemed guard of Impel Down.

He hates the godforsaken uniform. It’s never suited him and never will. Just to be contrary, Ace insists on wearing the orange cowboy hat he’d gotten from Luffy as a birthday present. The bright accessory has earned him more than one glare from the warden, but Ace sees it as his duty to bring a little color to Impel Down.

Ace fidgets with his jacket as he approaches the cell of their newest guest, a pirate Ace has become particularly fond of during the last two weeks.

Marco the Phoenix, first division commander of the Whitebeard crew.

Marco is quiet. He doesn’t swear or threaten or insult Ace when the guard chats with him. He’s made no attempt on Ace’s life. Ace likes Marco.

The only problem is getting the pirate to open his mouth and say something back. Ace has visited his cell every day since he was admitted, and Marco only sits and stares or closes his eyes as Ace rambles on about whatever comes to mind, hoping he’ll stumble across a topic Marco enjoys enough to respond.

So far, no luck.

He won’t give up so easily, though. Today he plops down in front of Marco’s cell and immediately begins complaining. “I hate being down here. My brother’s bounty went up and I only just found out! Damn it.”

Marco, who’s only acknowledgment of Ace’s presence had been a single twitch of an eyebrow, opens his eyes and looks at him. It feels like the first time Marco is actually paying attention, and Ace’s heart skips a beat. Is he getting somewhere?

He pulls the folded wanted poster from his pocket and holds it up for Marco to see. “Three hundred million. Not bad for a rookie, eh?”

Marco blinks his heavy-lidded eyes and says, “Your brother is a pirate, yoi.”

“Yeah. Didn’t I mention that?” Ace fists his pant leg in excitement. Marco’s voice is calm and cool; Ace wants to know if that yoi is some sort of speech quirk and what he can do to hear it again.

He got Marco to talk. Ace feels a deep sense of accomplishment.

“Your brother is a pirate,” Marco repeats, “yet you go on as if you’re proud of him.”

“Because I am,” Ace says, smiling at the wanted poster. It’s almost as if Luffy is smiling back.

Marco’s expression makes it clear he thinks Ace is crazy.

It’s a start.

From that moment on, Marco interrupts Ace’s aimless chatting with comments of his own, and eventually he begins asking questions about the current goings on outside Impel Down. Ace tells him, and in return Marco answers a few of his questions.

“What’s it like sailing with Whitebeard?”

Marco’s gaze is curious, assessing, but he grins. “Where should I start, yoi?”

“At the beginning,” Ace says, and leans forward with all the eagerness of a child.

-

“Why aren’t you a marine?”

Ace stops mid-sentence, mouth closing with an audible click. It’s irrational, he knows that, but it hurts to hear Marco lump him in with the government. The desire to burn his uniform grows stronger.

“You love the sea,” he continues, and Ace feels a bit better, “but instead of joining the Marines, you serve as a guard here, yoi. Why?”

“I wasn’t given a choice. My grandfather always intended for me to be a marine, but because of… _things_ , Sengoku assigned me to Impel Down. ‘ _It’s dangerous to set him loose on the Grand Line, Garp. He may decide to defect. Send him to Impel Down so we can keep an eye on him_.’” Ace quotes in a half-hearted imitation of the Fleet Admiral.

“Things?” Marco raises an eyebrow, interested but not pressing. That’s another thing Ace has come to love about Marco; he doesn’t insist, unlike a certain nosy old man.

Marco has been with Whitebeard a long time. Maybe even long enough to have met…him.

And Marco won’t push.

Ace takes a deep, steadying breath. He’s never told anyone but his brothers. “It’s my father.”

“Anyone I know, yoi?”

“Oh yeah. You knew him,” Ace mutters. “You knew him very well. The whole damn world did. Still does, though he died a long time ago.”

There’s a drawn out pause where Marco lays Ace out under a heavy, scrutinizing gaze, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s Marco thinking about Ace.

When he says, “So you’re _his_. I wasn’t aware he had children,” Ace hears the emphasis and sees that Marco understands. He’s smiling crookedly, and Ace is perhaps a bit more relieved than he should be that the pirate doesn’t give a flying fuck.

“The Fleet Admiral is right to be cautious, yoi,” Marco says. He means it as a joke.

Ace scowls at the floor anyway. “If I defect, it won’t be because of my blood.”

“Oh?” The word is nearly a purr. Ace is glad he’s staring at his lap; it hides the flush of his cheeks.

“I can think of a few reasons,” he whispers.

-

Marco looks up at the sound of footsteps pounding in his direction. Five seconds later, Ace skids to a halt outside his cell, one hand reaching out to steady himself on the bars before jerking back.

Ace hadn’t mentioned he was a Devil Fruit user.

Hands braced on his knees instead, Ace bends over and tries to gasp out words between ragged pants.

“Breathe,” Marco says dryly. Ace stops spluttering and does exactly what Marco told him to.

Marco still doesn’t know what to make of an Impel Down guard who takes orders from pirates, or at least orders from him. Honestly, Marco is grateful Ace gives him a never ending list of things to contemplate while he’s locked up in this unexpectedly boring prison. There’d been no torture after the entrance sterilization, not even some half-hearted smacking or manhandling of his person.

He’s disappointed.

Ace takes one last deep breath, and when he speaks, Marco can understand him. “Let me hide in here!”

“Hide from what, yoi?” Marco asks, frowning. What could possibly be so frightening that a guard would be driven to cower inside a cell?

At that moment an eerie call echoes across Level Six, raising gooseflesh on Marco’s arms. _Ace-chaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!_

Ace whimpers. “The old man. Oh god, Marco, please!”

 _Why bother asking for permission?_ “…Get inside, brat,” he says at last.

Ace sighs in relief, then his brow furrows in concentration and he dissolves into flame the same bright orange as his ridiculous hat, twisting sinuously between cell bars. The fire settles in a far corner, which falls into shadow as Ace solidifies.

He folds in on himself, tucking his legs beneath his chin and wrapping his arms around them, trying to be small, trying not to be seen. A group of men stride into view, Hannyabal and three marines, including an aging man Marco recognizes as Monkey D. Garp.

And Hannyabal, damn him, stops. “This is him.” The vice-warden gestures at Marco, and a chill grips the phoenix’s spine.

There are snails everywhere. He’d thought Ace would be smart enough to turn them away before sitting down for their friendly conversations.

“I hear you’ve been having nice chats with my grandson. Enjoying yourselves?” Garp is looking at him, but he doesn’t seem angry; the elderly marine hero rubs the bridge of his nose, grinning just a bit. No, not angry. Resigned might be a better word.  
Ace doesn’t belong here, and they both know it.

“That brat? The way he yammers on, I’d assumed it was a new form of torture.”

Garp laughs, but one of the marines with him apparently decides Marco has toed the line of disrespect. He spits, and it’s one hell of a lucky shot. The wad of saliva splatters against Marco’s forehead.

“Summers,” Garp says sharply, and the man falls back, smirking. Marco makes no move to wipe himself clean. “Forget it. Let’s find Ace. _Ace-chaaaaaaaaaan!_ ”

When they leave, Garp still yelling for his wayward grandson, Ace shuffles from the corner to crouch beside Marco. He pushes sweaty blond strands of Marco’s hair out of the way and scrubs gently at the spit with his sleeve, catching it before it can run into Marco’s eyes. “Fucking Marines. I hate when they pull shit like this.”

Marco is staring again. He feels entirely justified, since Ace is possibly the biggest idiot he’s ever met.

“What are you doing?”

Ace hesitates. “Wiping your face.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, yoi.”

He holds Ace’s gaze until the guard slumps against the wall, eyes flickering closed. Ace opens his mouth, bites his lip, then says, “Luffy’s dream is to be Pirate King. He went on and on and on about it and eventually the old man took notice - he was making arrangements to take Luffy from our island and train him at Marine headquarters.

“I couldn’t bear the thought. So I made a deal: I would willingly train to become a marine. No complaints. In exchange, Luffy was free to live how he liked.”

“Ace,” Marco says, growing impatient now, “that doesn’t explain _why you’re still here_.”

There’s a longer pause this time. “Because the old man could still go after Luffy. He’s not strong-“

“With a bounty of three hundred million? I’d say your brother is doing well enough without your help.”

Marco is telling Ace everything he’s needed to hear, and though he isn’t truly the person Ace needed to hear it from, it’ll have to do. Trembling fingers grip at his arm, and when Ace looks up his eyes are wide and wet and desperate.

Marco keeps from kissing him. Barely.

The kairoseki chains binding him clink loudly when Ace shifts closer. Marco thinks he’s about to be kissed anyway - and damn the consequences - when Garp shouts again. Another set of racing footsteps approaches the cell.

Ace jumps, and soft lips ghost against the side of Marco’s mouth. He’s gone in a second, the sudden burst of light from his flames leaving Marco blinking dark spots from his vision.

Garp slides to a stop, and this time he is angry. He glares around the cell as if expecting Ace to pop out of the stonework.

“You just missed him, yoi,” Marco says, smiling pleasantly.

Ace needs time to do a little contemplation of his own.

-

Marco first realizes something is happening when a trio of guards are standing outside his cell, their guns trained on Marco’s heart through the bars. They’re shaken; scared and strung tight with nerves, fingers twitching eagerly towards the triggers which will end his life. One of them is trembling so intensely his pistol slips between his sweaty palms, and Marco thinks it may all be over before he can even find out what’s going on.

“Gentlemen,” Marco says, splayed hands raised to show how defenseless he is, hoping to relax them enough to answer his next question. “Would you be so kind as to explain why I’m about to be executed ahead of schedule?”

The guard who’s almost wrecked with fear abruptly bursts into hysterical laughter. “Why? I’LL TELL YOU WHY! WHITEBEARD IS TEARING IMPEL DOWN APART TO FIND YOU!”

Another guard, the one who seems to be in greatest control of himself, snarls at his companion to calm the fuck down. Then he switches his attention to Marco. “The orders from Warden Magellan are to kill you now, before Whitebeard can reach you.” His hands steady the barrel of his gun, once again setting his aim for a fatal shot. The other two follow his example, though they are still incredibly frightened.

A huge explosion shudders through the prison, the aftershocks enough to steal away the guards’ balance. Marco takes this chance to heave one last time at the kairoseki clamped tightly around his wrists, but the constant drain on his strength has been too much. The attempt leaves him exhausted. He straightens his spine and evenly meets the eyes of the three men about to end his life. Never let it be said a Whitebeard pirate would die without pride.

If he dies at all.

Just as he hears the click of a fully cocked gun, there is a sudden movement behind the guards; in a blur, all three are unconscious, their heads having been brutally slammed against the cell bars. They collapse, faces bloodied, to reveal Ace - legs spread in a battle stance and hands balled into fists.

Marco hasn’t seen him in over a week.

There’s a groan of keys turning in a lock, and then Ace is inside with him, crouching down to undo the cuffs sealing away his Fruit ability. Marco heart slows it’s frantic beating.

“Done thinking, yoi?”

As the last cuff falls from his ankle, Ace smiles and nods and leans in and then they’re kissing, fierce and full of pent up tension. Marco knows his mouth must taste absolutely foul, but Ace keeps right on going, tongue battering its way past Marco’s lips to trace hurriedly against teeth, the softness of a cheek, thrusting against the phoenix’s own tongue with a harshness bordering on brutal in their rush.

There isn’t much time. Ace is still in his Impel Down uniform, but while Marco shakes the feeling back into his limbs, rubbing the raw skin where the cuffs have chaffed his wrists, Ace grabs the duffel bag he’d brought with him, unzips it, and rummages around until he removes a handful of dark fabric.

Marco watches with interest and slow simmering lust as the younger man strips with impunity, naked but for tight boxers - the same obnoxious orange as Ace’s hat - that cling to the tempting curve of his ass. The material turns out to be a pair of black shorts. Marco squashes down disappointment as those shorts are tugged over boxers, obscuring his view.

There are more belts than a man could possibly need strapped around Ace’s waist and a pouch secured to his thigh. No shirt joins the ensemble, to Marco’s great pleasure.

Ace picks up the crumpled guard uniform, glares at it with a level of contempt Marco hadn’t believed Ace capable of, and then the whole lot bursts into flames. With a disgusted flick of his wrist, Ace drops the uniform and lets it burn where it lies.

“Fucking finally,” Ace says, grinning broadly at Marco as he joins Ace outside the cell. “I’ve been dying to do that.”

“I couldn’t tell, yoi,” Marco says wryly. He kicks the smoldering bundle of brown fabric aside, cocks his head to listen for any incoming enemies, and then shoves Ace against a stone wall. The younger man blinks up at him but doesn’t try to escape.

Marco leans close enough for their noses to brush. Ace arches forward, reaching for Marco’s mouth. The pirate pins his shoulders. “You’ve made up your mind?”

“Obviously,” Ace breathes, lifted face begging to be kissed.

“No regrets, yoi?” Marco hovers a scant inch away from Ace’s lips. Hot puffs of air sweep over his chin.

“Not anymore.”

And Ace sounds so certain, so determined and relieved, that Marco gives him what he wants. Holds him down, brings their lips and hip flush, and it’s only a second explosion, nearer now, that reminds Marco they have more pressing matters. This can be continued later when they’re safe on the _Moby Dick_.

Marco lets healing blue flames erupt across his damaged flesh. The way Ace’s eyes narrow, how his tongue flickers across his swollen lips, is gratifying, as are the fires flaring into life across Ace’s skin. Ace likes what he sees.

So Marco lets himself fully transform. To set the phoenix free after his lengthy separation from the ability brings a flurry of ecstatic emotion, and Ace gasping against his now elongated neck certainly isn’t helping matters.

He squats as best he can in bird form, and Ace takes the hint, scrambling onto his back. Marco aches where Ace shivers and nuzzles at his feathers, body so very warm…

It’s beyond time to get out of here.

“Let’s go,” Marco growls, and spreads his wings.


End file.
